House Of Cards
by ThePossibilityOfMagic
Summary: They were more than a team; they were a family. Take one away, and they all come tumbling down.
1. Beckett's loss

_I know what you're thinking, but you can't possibly be more surprised to see me here than I am. It's been three years ( three years!) since I last posted a Castle fic, but this particular story has been waiting a long time (according to the file, since June 2011... jeez) to be set free, and while it was mostly completed by 2012, for some reason I was never quite able to finish the last chapter. That is, until now._

 _Though I have no doubt that everyone is completely sick of kidnapped!Castle fics (thanks, show, for stealing my idea years after I came up with it lol), I'm giving you another anyway. And just so we're all aware, t_ _his story is set somewhere around the end of S4 (yes, THAT far back!), prior the big reveal in 47 Seconds, and is a multi-perspective fic based loosely around the five stages of grief._

 _I also have to take a quick sec to dedicate this story to Lisa, who has waited patiently for literally years to see it come into existence. It would never have done so without your support!_

 _Anyway, here it is at last. I really hope you like it._

* * *

"Okay, okay, I got one," Castle laughed, slowing his stride as he looked down at her. "How about this? Fifteen years old, first time I ever shaved. I may have been just a tad too overeager."

Halting on the sun-dappled sidewalk, he tilted his head, pointing to a spot on the underside of his jaw. "See?"

Cocking her head to the side, Beckett squinted. "Nope."

Castle huffed, lifting his chin a little higher. "Come on, how can you not see it? It's right there."

"Hold on, let me look."

Beckett stepped closer– though, as was their fashion, they had barely been abiding the accepted boundaries of personal space as it was– and Castle obligingly angled himself more toward her, allowing her to bring her face within just a few inches of his neck, her eyes following his pointed finger to the pale, inch-long scar that was now clearly visible along the stubbled line of his jaw.

Feeling the warmth of his body so close to hers, Beckett inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, then bit her lip to hold back a smile.

"I think you're making this up," she informed him, fighting to keep her the trace of mischief out of her tone. "There's nothing there."

"What?" Castle asked in surprise, his fingers tracing along the underside of his jaw. "It's right there, I can feel it!"

Shifting to face her, Castle grabbed her hand in his, lifting it and guiding it to the scar to feel its presence for herself.

"How could you miss that? Seriously, I–" suddenly seeing the mischievous grin she wore, he cut himself off, then narrowed his eyes at her. "You're messing with me."

Beckett laughed, a familiar lightness filling her chest, one that she only seemed to feel around him. "Sorry, Castle, but you're just too easy. I couldn't resist."

Feigning displeasure, he attempted to frown down at her; but soon failed, his lips twitching until he simply gave in, his grin mirroring hers.

Neither of them seemed to remember that they were standing in the middle of a public sidewalk, her fingers still resting lightly against his jaw, almost like a lover's caress. Lately, it seemed like more and more of their interaction was coming to fit comfortably under that description: _almost like a lover_. In truth, anyone who saw them now would probably think them as just another love-struck couple, strolling down the street together on a sunny Monday morning.

And right now, Beckett couldn't bring herself to care.

Grinning up at him, she raised an eyebrow, lightly tracing his scar with her fingertips.

"So, you really think your little shaving scar can match the coolness of my bullet wound?"

"Hey, now, no way," he objected earnestly, "The rules specifically stated that all scars must have been both accidental and self-inflicted to qualify. On-the-job injuries or attempted murders are off limits."

Beckett gave him a sly smile, ready to play her trump card. She could already picture the excited, eager light that would come into his eyes the moment she mentioned the word _motorcycle_. "Well, in that case–"

She never got a chance to finish the sentence. There was no warning– or rather, her mind realised the warning far too late. There was only the squeal of brakes from the road to her left, the shriek of a heavy door being rolled forcefully open, the slap of several feet on asphalt.

In that split second between the collision of one reality and another, Beckett saw Castle's eyes lift, widening reflexively as they focused on something behind her– and something within her reacted instinctively, her body starting to turn, her hand dropping from Castle's face as the other went for her gun.

But not fast enough.

The blow to her temple felt like a speeding freight train crashing into her skull. The second blow came from the sidewalk; she wasn't entirely sure she'd even been conscious for the fall, but the impact of her face on concrete was certainly enough to bring her sharply back to reality. Scarcely noticing the low, pained moan that rumbled from her throat, Beckett pushed hard against the concrete, knowing that she had to move, to get up and fight, because the next hit could mean her death.

Or Castle's.

The thought spurred her on, sending a flood of adrenaline through her veins.

Twisting, she lifted herself to her knees, drawing her gun in the same fluid movement, her aim fixed directly where their faceless attackers had been, preparing herself for the worst.

She wasn't prepared enough. In the blink of an eye, she saw it all; the narrow, deserted street blocked by a white van, its engine fired and a black-masked man behind the wheel, shouting to two others who had just shoved something large into the back and jumped in after it, already yanking on the heavy roller door. In the single second it took for the door to slide home, Beckett saw their cargo, her heart constricting so painfully in her chest that she couldn't breathe, couldn't move, could only stare as Castle's eyes met hers from the depths of the van, wide with terror and desperation, the pained shout that left his lips– _Kate_ – drowned out as the door slammed into place and the van sped off, tyres squealing.

 _"_ _No!"_

Throwing herself to her feet, Beckett stumbled to the center of the street, knowing that giving chase was useless; her car was more than a block behind her, and pursuit on foot was impossible. Instead, she leveled her gun in a swift motion, then grimly sighted up, keeping her aim low. She couldn't– wouldn't– risk Castle getting hit, couldn't even let herself think about the possibility. Instead, she thought only about her target, her entire being reduced to the squeeze of her finger on the trigger.

The first two bullets fell short, kicking up miniature dustclouds as they buried themselves in the asphalt just behind the speeding van. The third, however, struck home; the van's rear left tire all but exploded, causing the vehicle to fishtail wildly, and for a fleeting second hope flared bright in her heart– but the driver somehow managed to regain control, her fourth and fifth bullets flying wide as the van made a sharp, screeching turn around a corner, abruptly vanishing from sight.

Yanking her radio free, Beckett called it in, mechanically recounting the attack, giving a description of the assailants– three, including the driver, by her count– and of the vehicle, ensuring the operator noted the blown tire.

Once done, she lowered the radio and simply stood there, all alone in the middle of the deserted street, her eyes staring unseeingly at the corner where she had last seen the battered, fleeing van.

And as she stood there alone, radio in one hand and gun in the other, she finally felt the weight of reality sink in, the truth more painful than any physical injury.

 _Castle was gone._

Her vision began to blur, all background noise simply fading away until there was nothing left, nothing but her and the silent emptiness that spread through her, a chill that froze in her veins.

And then, right there in the middle of the deserted street, her mind empty of all but the image of Castle's shocked and frightened face, Kate Beckett slowly sank to her knees.

Castle was gone.

* * *

 _Thank you to everyone who gave this a read. I remember Castle readers as being the absolute best at reviewing and interacting with writers, and so I would honestly love to hear your thoughts on this chapter and the story as it progresses. I'm fairly certain this story will be about nine chapters, and I'd be honoured if you guys would join me for all of them._

 _Cheers,_

 _Laura_


	2. Castle's pain

_Hey again everyone! I have to say, I am genuinely amazed by your responses to last chapter- you really proved me right when I said that Castle readers were the BEST readers! It was so cool to be so sincerely welcomed back, and even cooler to see some old familiar names popping back up! It reminds me just how much I've missed this fandom and all of you guys, so I'm honestly so excited to have you all along for this ride._

 _In case you're wondering, I'm looking at probably a twice-weekly arrangement for updating, and while Chapter 2 is also a bit of a shorter one, I promise the later chapters will get longer. There's also a_ _slight warning for a little bit of swearing in some chapters, including this one._

 _Hope you like it._

* * *

Castle tasted blood.

His lip had split, that much was certain. Though whether from the fist that had connected forcefully with his face when he'd tried to defend Kate, or the multiple collisions with the walls of the van– considering that with every wild corner he was thrown around like a rag doll in a tumble dryer– he couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that he hurt. And, given his present company, he knew that pretty soon he would be hurting a lot more.

The terror started to truly sink in then, flowing through his veins like icewater, freezing him from the inside out. He'd faced danger before, of course, but never alone; Kate had always been there.

And the one time when she wasn't– when the Triple Killer had gotten him– at least he'd had Ryan, yet another trained cop whom he trusted with his life.

Now, he was completely and utterly on his own.

 _What would Kate do?_ He thought desperately, then screwed his eyes tightly shut as another abrupt turn sent him slamming into the wall, pain radiating through his entire body in a sharp wave. Catching his breath, he forced himself to focus, ignoring the complaints of his bruised and battered body as he mentally placed Beckett in his situation. She was a cop, she was smart, she would–

 _Learn_ , her voice answered in his mind, a fierce whisper that silenced all his clamouring thoughts. _Learn all you can, then use it against them._

Like a healing spell, the words gave him strength, focus; a new sense of purpose rising within him to counteract his fear.

As usual, Beckett was right– if he could understand more about his captors, their plans and motivations, there was a chance he'd find something he could use to his advantage, could turn against them. Feeling his lips twitch in a grim almost-smile, Castle silently blessed Beckett, making himself a mental note to thank her later.

That was, a small voice whispered, if he lived to see a 'later'.

Swiftly quashing that thought, Castle steeled himself, then drew a deep breath.

"Hey," he croaked, lifting his head to look at the two men occupying the back of the van with him. Both were still standing, gripping a railing that ran around the edge of the underside of the van's roof, riding the corners like regulars on the subway. Both had removed their masks, which tied an extra little knot of fear deep in his stomach. In his books, people who saw the faces of their captors rarely met with a happy ending.

Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Hey, guys, I'm not sure how well you've thought this through."

Two pairs of eyes turned to him, one impassive, the other full of contempt. Well, at least he had their attention.

"I'm just saying, I don't know how smart this is. I know I've got money, but I've also got close ties with the NYPD. You'll get your ransom, but as soon as they get me back they will track you down and you'll be toast. Seriously, just toss me out right here, and we'll all go our separate ways and pretend this never happened. No harm done."

The scornful-looking one– Castle dubbed him Scornface– sneered.

"Think you're smart, don't you? Well, guess what, you stupid fucker? There's not going to _be_ a ransom, and the only way they're getting you back is in fucking _pieces_. So shut the fuck up."

He didn't have to tell Castle twice; right now, any further conversation ranked far below the simple act of remembering how to breathe, the man's order made somewhat redundant by the invisible hand that seemed to have closed tightly around Castle's throat– not only at his words, which were terrifying enough on their own, but at the utter certainty with which they were spoken, their truth piercing through his feeble defenses like a bullet through paper.

Closing his eyes, he fought the rising panic that once more threatened to take hold, his previous resolve crumbling. Trying desperately to think of Kate, to draw again on her strength, he found only anguish, the image of her haunting him, a torturous reminder of all he was about to lose. As the fear wound even tighter around his chest, pulling him under, he saw Alexis' and his mother's faces join hers in his mind, hot tears of grief burning behind his closed lids.

 _I'm so sorry. I love you._

Even those words were a torment to him; suddenly feeling like he was drowning in what ifs and missed opportunities and things unsaid, Castle let out a shuddering breath, his heart squeezing painfully. He may never see them again, and there were so many things he still wanted to tell them, _needed_ to tell them, needed to know that they knew. He'd lost so much time, wasted so many chances–

Preoccupied with his grief, he didn't notice the van turning another corner until his body moved with it, rolling slightly onto one side– and causing a hard object to dig sharply into his thigh, the physical pain momentarily overriding its emotional counterpart.

And in that fleeting moment, realization hit.

It was like getting tasered, freezing him mid-thought, rewiring his brain from blind anguish to tenuous determination.

He'd wasted a lot of chances, but he still had one left, one tiny flicker of hope and comfort in the face of the grim fate that awaited him.

Drawing a deep breath, Castle summoned all of his willpower and concentration, then waited for the van to change in direction once more, using the movement to roll away from his captors, taking advantage of their inattention. Then, he curled himself into a ball, as if hurt or afraid– which would hardly qualify as acting, considering both were more than true– and allowed the bulk of his body to shield his actions as he very slowly, very carefully eased his phone from his pocket. For a moment he contemplated simply calling Beckett, but dismissed the thought just as quickly. There was no way she could trace him now, not until she was back at the precinct with all the equipment and fancy tracking doodads that he really should have paid more attention to.

Just one more regret to add to the list, he supposed.

Barely daring to breathe, he surreptitiously switched the phone to silent mode– with the way his luck was going today, it would surely ring and give him away– then slipped it down the front of his pants, utilising the only hiding place he had.

Glancing back over at his captors, Castle checked for any sign of suspicion, but both seemed content to ignore him, their eyes fixed up front, their faces showing only the hardened emptiness of experienced killers. Rolling back to face the far wall, he tried to regulate his breathing, to keep himself calm and focused, keep the terror at bay.

He was doing _something_. He was working on a plan, not a very clever or sophisticated one, but one that might allow him to say what he needed to say to those he loved, and maybe– just _maybe_ – even get him through this day alive.

And yet, even as he had that thought, it was still there, heavy in the pit of his stomach; a feeling, maybe, or intuition.

Whatever it was, he could feel it spreading slowly through him like a poison, a dark certainty burying itself deep in his bones, its weight impossible to ignore.

He'd heard that there was a time when you just know. You know that your life is about to come to an end, your death nothing but a fast-approaching inevitability. Of all the times he'd faced death in the last few years, it had never felt like _this_.

Perhaps it was because this time, Kate wasn't with him. She was safe. No matter what happened to him now, she would have family around her; she would be protected, looked after, cared for. And he could live with that.

Or rather, he could die with that.

And so, as the van sped him ever closer to the moment of his death, he simply closed his eyes, letting his breathing even out, his frantic heart slowly settling at last.

Then, clearing his mind of all but the faces of those he loved, Richard Castle waited to say goodbye.

* * *

 _Thanks again for reading, and please let me know what you think! I know Castle pinballed around a little bit with his emotions, but I thought (despite never having faced my imminent death, thankfully) that it was potentially accurate reaction? Do you agree? Also, if you're up to it, a review per chapter would be awesome... after all, it's only a few words from you in exchange for thousands from me! Plus I'm big on replying to reviews, and wanna make the most of interacting with you guys while I have the chance!_

 _Cheers,_

 _Laura_


	3. Ryan's deal

_Guys. I need to say a sincere thank you for your reviews on the last chapter, because they meant the world to me, and I feel like you should know why. To explain: I posted that update at just before midnight the other night, then hurriedly headed to work in the morning and didn't get a single chance to stop and check out your responses until about 7pm that night (while on my dinner break, 11 hours into a busy 13 hour shift). I'm a doctor, and right now I work in the Intensive Care Unit– and while having dying patients is a sad reality of the job, the events of that day were just even more awful than usual, about as stressful and traumatic as the job gets. So when I finally sat down alone in the tea room and started reading your reviews- the only bright moment I'd been able to look forward to all day- and saw how lovely and funny and interested you'd all been, I found myself genuinely smiling for the first time in hours, followed immediately by me breaking down and crying into my dinner (and then having to clean myself up before I went back out onto the unit and into the company of grieving families)._

 _And so basically, I just wanted to share that experience with you to show you that, just as mine and other writers' stories reach you, you guys reach us too. And I'm grateful._

 _Anyhow, on with the story. This chapter is a little different, and might give you a hint as to how this story is going to be told._

 _Hope you like it._

* * *

It wasn't like any other crime scene.

They both knew it; they could feel it in the tense silence that filled the car, consuming them both in its oppressive weight. This, right now– this was that moment, that final second of preparation before opening that car door and facing all that lay beyond.

They'd broken close to a dozen laws simply getting here– Esposito driving with a white-knuckled determination and a blaring siren that had gotten them to the scene faster than any NASCAR racer ever could have– but now that they were here, now that it was really _real_ , it was suddenly as though everything had been thrown into slow motion and they couldn't find their balance.

This wasn't just about solving a crime, righting a wrong, serving justice.

This was family.

This was _Castle_.

It was a fact that Ryan still couldn't quite get into his head, couldn't make himself believe. Deny it as he might, he'd always looked up to Castle, in the way that a slightly geeky kid looks up to his super-cool, super-popular big brother. To him, Castle had always been the captain of the football team, the homecoming king; the protagonist of a book, the superhero in a movie, the all-round leading man. Castle was simply larger than life.

Castle was invincible.

Or so it had always seemed. But now, Castle was gone, and if they couldn't find a way to get him back– if they failed him now– he would be gone forever.

This time, it was the superhero that needed rescuing, and Kevin Ryan– perpetual sidekick– wasn't sure he was up to the task.

Closing his eyes for a second, he drew a deep breath. _I'll do whatever it takes,_ he swore silently, _just don't let us fail him. Don't let us fail_ them _._

Opening his eyes, he looked over at his partner– who still gripped the wheel tightly, almost as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality– and released the breath in a slow, unsteady exhale. Esposito had gotten them this far; but now, it seemed it was up to him to push them that final step.

Leaning over, he clicked open his partner's seatbelt catch, then did the same for his own.

"We do what has to be done," he said quietly, hearing the rough-edged quality that his voice seemed to have acquired in the score of minutes since _that_ phone call. Clearing his throat slightly, he went on, trying to affect a sense of confidence and conviction that he didn't feel. "We face whatever comes. For Castle, and for Beckett. For them both."

Esposito caught his eyes, then gave the slightest nod, his mouth hard. "For them."

For a second, neither man moved. Then, in a single, fluid action, they opened their doors and stepped into reality.

Due to his vantage point on the near side of the car, it was Ryan who spotted her first– surrounded by a team of uniforms, she stood tall and commanding, directing the group around her like a battle-hardened coach might direct a knot of footballers during a timeout. As he waited for Esposito to round the car, he took a brief second to assess her, surveying her with not only the measured gaze of a seasoned detective, but also the equally perceptive eyes of a concerned brother.

And, though he would never admit it to any other than himself, what he saw frightened him.

Few people knew better than Ryan just how intimidating Detective Kate Beckett could be. She was a woman who had inspired many emotions within him over the years– admiration, affection, respect, pride, awe. But never, ever fear.

Until now.

Because even from here, over a dozen yards away, he could see what none of those around her could– that the Kate Beckett they now saw was not the Kate Beckett she had been a week ago, or a day ago, or even this morning.

She was still Beckett, of course– and yet, she wasn't.

There was a quality to her now that had never existed before; an air of power and fury that surrounded her like an aura, a hardness to her features that made her appear as if carved from granite.

As Esposito joined him, a single glance at his grave expression told him that his partner could see it too. Without a word, both started moving, their strides long and swift as they made their way over to her.

As they drew near, a single word entered Ryan's head, one that made his eyes widen slightly, his stomach tightening in trepidation.

 _Adrestia_.

It was the name he had sometimes called her in his mind; Adrestia, Greek goddess of revenge and balance, daughter to the god of war and the goddess of love and beauty. To the people of Ancient Greece, she was known as the punisher of human injustice, or 'she whom none can escape'.

It had always been an affectionate nickname, a joking comparison that he had never voiced to anyone– knowing that it would only bring yet more embarrassment and teasing upon himself– but right now, he could see that the comparison was more apt than he'd ever dreamed.

Because, right now, the woman before him seemed more like Adrestia incarnate than the friend and sister he'd known.

When he and Esposito reached her side, only the slightest of nods indicated she was even aware of them at all. Bodies tense and minds worried, they waited as she gave her final orders to the waiting uniforms– all of whom were staring at her with a sense of hushed solemnity which almost bordered on fear, a silent tension infecting all those around her.

Once dismissed, the beat cops swiftly moved out, following their every order with a half-fearful urgency and determination, multiple teams working in a more serious and coordinated manner than many had ever seen.

For a brief moment Beckett simply watched them go, her eyes seeming far away, before turning to focus on Esposito and himself, taking a deep breath as if drawing herself back together again.

"Beckett..." Esposito began, and Ryan could practically hear the words of comfort and optimism like "We'll get him back" and "we're going to nail these bastards" that were undoubtedly on the tip of his tongue– because they were the truth, or what both he and his partner had to believe to be the truth– but Beckett held up a hand, halting him before he could even get a single word out.

"I know, Esposito. What's the status at the precinct?"

The two men shared a brief glance, then quickly masked their concern, adopting their partner's all-business attitude.

"Full-force. Gates has everybody that can be spared working on it. Passive phone trace already up and running, traffic cam search, the works."

Beckett gave a short, hard nod, looking darkly satisfied but far from pleased.

"What about here?" Ryan asked carefully, trying not to let his apprehension show. "Anything we can do?"

For a fleeting moment, her face softened, and he could once again see the woman he had long counted as family looking back at him from behind those hazel eyes. Then she blinked, and again Kate was gone, the hard-eyed Adrestia once more in her place.

"Nothing left to do," she answered, then proceeded to fill them in on the current status of the situation. Her briefing was short and to the point; her statement had already been clearly and precisely delivered to the appropriate uniforms, the obligatory health-check done– treatment of an apparent small scalp laceration was firmly declined, and a suggestion to go to hospital point-blank refused– and now there was nothing more that could be done here.

Which left the next logical step; the precinct. From here on out, everything depended– he refused to think the words 'Castle's life depended'– on finding the van, and they had the greatest likelihood of doing so by working with the rest back at the 12th.

Once the agreement to return to the 12th had been reached– a swift consensus, given that Ryan was pretty sure he and Esposito would have followed her wishes even if she'd suggested crossing the river Styx straight into the Underworld– Esposito turned, passing him the car keys before holding out his hand to Beckett.

"Keys?"

Beckett looked at his outstretched hand, her eyebrows drawing together. "What?"

"Our car's right here. Ryan'll take you back to the precinct, keep your hands free to make calls and whatever you need to do. I'll follow in your car. Where is it?"

Beckett paused, frowning, but seemingly couldn't fault his logic. Digging into her pocket, she handed him the keys.

"Two blocks south, parked in front of an old brick building."

Esposito nodded, his eyes meeting each of theirs briefly. "See you at the precinct."

And then he turned on his heel and strode off, dodging between uniforms and crime scene personnel with the ease of long practice. For a moment Ryan watched him go, then turned toward Beckett– only to find her already gone, her long legs having already carried her halfway to the car, leaving him standing alone.

 _Come on, Kevin_ , he thought to himself, giving himself a mental shake before jogging to catch her.

 _Time for the sidekick to step up._

* * *

 _So what do you guys think of the multi-perspective thing? Was this an accurate 'Ryan', and what stage of grief do you think he stands for? And in case you're wondering- yes, the whole team gets a chapter :) Any comment on who you're looking forward to hearing from?_

 _Thank you all again for reading,_

 _Laura_


	4. Beckett's choice

_Hey everyone! Back to Beckett POV for this one, and it's the longest yet._

 _Again, thank you all for your awesome reviews. You guys are the greatest. Also, to those who tried to guess Ryan's 'grief stage'– it was probably a bit of a trick question, because (like most people when they're grieving) he's a combination of a few stages; but in this case, let's put him down as mainly 'bargaining' with a hint of 'denial'._

 _Anyhow, on to the chapter. It's super angsty (surprise, surprise), but hope you like it regardless._

* * *

Sirens.

When she'd lost him– lost _herself_ – back there in that empty street, it had been the sirens that had pulled her back from the brink, the first sound to truly penetrate her consciousness since the slamming of the van door and the broken shout that had echoed behind it, a muffled cry etched with fear and pain.

 _Kate_.

It couldn't have been more than two minutes before the first blue-and-white hit the scene, sirens screaming; but for her, those two minutes were a lifetime. On bruised knees like a sinner praying for forgiveness, her head bowed as though she no longer had the strength to hold it up, she'd been close to gone; sinking down deep inside herself without him there to anchor her to the outside world, her lifeline severed the moment he'd been torn from her.

But then– _sirens_.

Like a defibrillator to the chest, they brought her back to life, drawing her away from that place deep within her, that dark place of hopelessness and grief previously reserved only for her mother, and for the piece of herself that had died with her.

The sirens reminded her that she was no longer that dazed nineteen year old, the little girl left broken and motherless. She was _Detective Kate Beckett,_ and she _was_ going to get her partner back, even if she had to tear both the city and herself apart to do it.

By the time the first uniform reached her, she was already on her feet; her gun holstered, her radio on her belt, her expression hard and cold as stone.

Only moments before, she'd been on her knees like a repentant churchgoer, desperately seeking help and guidance. When she rose, it was no longer as the quivering mortal; instead, she was the vengeful god, and there was going to be hell to pay.

Now, back here in the precinct, the noise and activity fuelled her, keeping her going, both the constant action and the heat of her fury allowing her to forcibly suppress that tiny part of her that simply wanted to curl into a ball and sob until she could no longer breathe.

Pacing in the small walkway between the boys' desks and her own– carefully keeping her eyes well away from Castle's chair– Beckett kept herself immersed in the search, giving orders and fielding calls. But, as the minutes continued to pass, she felt the panic begin rising higher, her pacing becoming faster, an invisible hand tightening around her throat until each breath was a battle.

This was taking far too long.

She needed to _do_ something. She needed to find him. She just needed _him_. Every second without him was one second closer to the moment when her fragile control would fail her completely, when she would finally snap, shattering into a million pieces, a broken thing far beyond repair.

 _God, Castle. I need you. Come back to me._

Coming to a stop behind his chair, she gripped the backrest hard, closing her eyes and leaning forward as she fought to draw air into her failing lungs. It just wasn't enough– what they were doing here, it wasn't _enough_. They needed to find him _now_.

And yet the only chance of doing so would mean having to risk everything; life or death, it all came down to one decision, one single, simple question.

Was she willing to risk his life in order to save it?

Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the chair for a moment, then let go, opening her eyes.

"Ryan, Esposito," she called, "Code it up for an active trace. We're–"

"Hold it right there."

Forcibly restraining her fury, Beckett turned, meeting her captain's eyes with a determination bordering on defiance.

"Detective, I am certain I must have misheard you, because it sounded as though you just ordered two of my men to run an active trace on Mr Castle's phone," Gates said slowly, her voice measured, even. "And I know you would never be so reckless."

Beckett didn't flinch. Instead, she simply gestured to Ryan to proceed with the trace, then spoke again, her voice hard. "We're wasting too much time. An active trace is our best shot of getting to him–"

Gate's voice rang out, clear and sharp. "Touch that keyboard and so help me, I will make you regret it, Detective."

Freezing, Ryan slowly retracted his hand, shooting an apologetic look at Beckett.

Gates eyed him for a moment before turning back to Beckett, taking a step forward and spreading her hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Now, Detective Beckett, we all understand the gravity of this situation. Mr Castle is a member of the 12th and we will do everything within our means to get him back. But, with that said, we must follow protocol, no matter what. We're doing this by the book, which means we continue with the passive trace, which is narrowing in on Castle's location as we speak–"

"But _not_ _fast_ _enough_!" Beckett shot back, eyes wild. "A passive trace could take hours, hours that _we don't have_. If we call him now, we give ourselves the best chance of finding him. An active trace–"

"Is far too risky," Gates responded bluntly. "As of now, his cell is still on and transmitting. The moment we make that call, whomever has him will seize his phone and mostly likely destroy it before we ever get the opportunity to even begin the trace, and then we've lost any chance we might have had at finding him." Pausing slightly, she eyed Beckett over her glasses, her gaze intense. "And that, Detective, would be on your head."

"Whatever happens to him will _already_ be on my head!" Beckett burst out, the words tearing violently from her throat, jagged as broken glass. "I'm the one who let them take him in the first place. I'm the one who was supposed to protect him! This is my fault and I _know_ that, but we're running out of time. We need to get to him, _now_ , because every moment we waste waiting for this trace is another moment his captors have to find his phone and get rid of it! This is his _best_ chance."

Running a hand through her hair in agitation, she clenched her teeth, fighting to keep her voice from breaking on her next words. "This might be his _only_ chance."

Gates stood firm. "Detective, I'm warning you. Proceed with this, and not only are you seriously endangering Mr Castle's life, you will be in violation of both standard protocol and a direct order from your superior. The latter alone is grounds for an immediate suspension and potential further disciplinary action. So, for the last time, _stand down_."

The words were like the iron she was named for, her gaze piercing as it held Beckett's; fierce and unyielding, they stared each other down, two battle-scarred lionesses ready to fight to the death.

For a moment, there was complete and utter silence in the bullpen; no one dared move, nor even breathe loudly lest they somehow sever the tiny, invisible thread of control that appeared to be the only thing keeping their entire unit from descending into chaos.

Unlike Gates, who was minutely aware of the dozens of eyes fixed upon them, Beckett saw only two pairs; the deep, warm blue of her partner– his eyes shifting from cheerful, to terrified, to blank and lifeless in her mind– and the dark, stern brown of the woman facing her. As their eyes held, the older woman's normally unwavering gaze suddenly flickered, finally seeing the truth reflected back at her, the truth that everyone else present had already seen.

This was a fight she could never win.

"Kate–" she began, the use of her first name clearly a last-ditch effort to break through to her. Ignoring her, Beckett simply drew her phone from her pocket, her thumb swiping across the screen.

"You do this, you lose your badge," Gates told her quietly, a sense of resignation in her stance.

"Already lost everything else," Beckett answered simply, her tone flat, dead, as if she were already nothing but an echo of who she had been. Then, meeting her captain's eyes one last time– hating the pity she saw mixed into that strict gaze– she hit the button for the keypad, her thumb reaching for the speed dial button that Castle had assigned himself long ago, an action which she had complained about at the time but had still always left unaltered.

In the fraction of an instant before her skin touched the screen, however, the phone suddenly flared to life in her hand, the vibration and accompanying blare of noise so startling and unexpected that she nearly dropped it altogether.

Seeing the face that filled the screen was like a bullet to the gut, her trembling fingers fumbling as she hastily swiped at the screen, desperately answering the call before yanking the phone to her ear.

 _"_ _Castle?"_

"Kate, thank god," Castle's voice echoed down the line, his words low and fast, a hurried whisper. "I need you to listen to me. I'm fine, but judging by some of the things I've overheard, I doubt I will be for much longer. Which is why I need you to listen close, okay? Firstly, I need you to promise me that you'll look after Mother and Alexis, and make sure they know how much I love them–"

Beckett blanched, his words sending a wave of nausea through her. "No, Castle, we're going to find you–"

"Kate, please, just let me get this out," he insisted desperately, her eyes squeezing shut at the anguish that bled through every word. "Tell them I love them, and tell them that they'll find my will in the copy of Heat Wave on my bookshelf. Tell the others– god, um, just tell them that they're my family too, okay? Tell Ryan he better name a wine after me, and tell Espo that if he so much as scratches the ferrari I will come back and haunt him forever. Um, and– I never found out what Lanie wanted, but tell her to take you on a vacation somewhere, all right? Somewhere sunny. And god, make sure that Evelyn and the kids get Roy's share–"

"Castle, _stop_ -"

"No, Kate, I need to say this. Please, I need to say this."

She heard his breath shudder through the line, heard the tears he was barely holding back.

"Kate, when I said _always_ , I meant it. _I meant it_. It was real, Kate– you and me. It's real."

" _Cas–"_

Cutting short her choked plea, he pressed on even more urgently, as if these words were the most important he would ever speak.

"And god, I wish that it didn't keep taking one of us being on the edge of death for me to say it, but I lo–"

At that moment, there was a metallic screeching noise– _the van door_ – and he broke off abruptly, his sharp intake of breath loud in her ear.

"Oh shit, no– _Kate_ –"

Frozen in horror, Beckett could only listen as the unmistakeable sound of furious shouting echoed down the line, followed immediately by a loud clattering noise– as if the phone had just been dropped to a hard surface– and everything became muffled, unintelligible, until suddenly Castle's terrified voice cut through the line, as clear as if he were standing right beside her–

"No– please– _NO_ –!"

 _Crack._

Abruptly silencing Castle's desperate shout, the sound of the gunshot seemed to travel straight from her ear to her heart, stopping it mid-beat. Her brain got the message a split second later, his name tearing from her throat in a harsh, ragged cry.

" _Castle!"_

Silence.

Then suddenly her ear was filled with an electronic shriek, forcing her to yank the phone away, staring at it in horror as the screen flashed, informing her that the call had been disconnected.

 _No. No, that couldn't have– he couldn't be–_

With another flash, Castle's picture faded from the screen, returning her to her empty menu, as if the call had never taken place and the picture had never been.

Oh, god.

 _Castle._

Clenching her fingers so tightly around the phone that the plastic creaked in protest, Beckett let her head drop to press against it, the top edge digging painfully into the ridge of her eyebrow as she screwed her eyes tightly shut, every muscle in her body wound taut and sharp as razorwire, slicing her apart from within. Dragging in a ragged breath, she mentally drew herself together, shoving back the agonized scream that threatened to rip her inside out at any moment.

And as she breathed, the armor that had shielded her since her mother's death– the armor that just this very morning she had been so close to finally laying aside– was resolutely pulled back into place, sealing her heart away.

With a slow exhale, Beckett lowered the phone and lifted her gaze, her eyes finding only Ryan and Esposito, blind to the myriad of horrified stares still fixed upon her as she spoke, her voice a pained rasp.

"The trace?"

Still staring at her in complete, disbelieving horror, Ryan failed to respond, seeming to have forgotten the small piece of paper clutched in his hand.

Controlling his own shock, Esposito schooled his face into a blank, stony expression, then looked down at the paper his partner held.

Lifting his eyes back to hers, he gave a small nod.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Gates take a reflexive step forward, as if intending to intervene. Halting her with a small, sharp raise of her hand, Beckett kept her eyes fixed on her two brothers, her expression cold and distant, her words heavy with darkness and fury.

"Find them."

With that, she turned on her heel, ignoring the continued stares and whispers as she strode straight for the shuttered meeting room, the empty room swallowing her as effectively as the grief had.

Behind her, various looks of shock and concern were exchanged, the half-heard phone conversation seeming to echo in the silence as Ryan and Esposito slowly rounded their desks, their gazes flicking uncertainly to their captain.

Suddenly, as if she had sensed their hesitation, Beckett's voice lanced out from the other room, rough and sharp-edged.

" _Now!"_

With a last look at Gates– who gave the slightest of nods, her normally stern eyes showing just a hint of moisture– the two men steadied themselves and headed for the elevator, the splintering crash of wood on brick echoing from the room behind them as they went.

* * *

 _Okay, with this one I know I'm venturing into slightly borderline territory for Beckett. For some of you, this depiction of her will probably seem OOC. For me, though, there's a hell of a lot of repressed emotion within Beckett, and losing Castle is one of the only keys that can release it (in fact, some of my older stories have touched on this topic as well). But anyhow, we all view things differently, and that's okay._

 _And as for Gates, I don't mean to be setting her up as like an antagonist here. I just wrote her as I believed she would be in that situation; while not unaffected by Castle's ordeal or her team's pain, she must be the one to remain logical and objective, because otherwise they would have nothing but chaos. But, well, it's a hard line to walk. Maybe once we've heard from her later, everything will be a little clearer._

 _Btw, I know passive and active traces aren't a legit thing (everybody just uses GPS)- but, well, most of this story was written five years ago and I definitely watched fewer cop show back then haha. So for the sake of the story let's pretend that the traces are necessary lol._

 _Lastly, did everyone catch the reference to the ep Lucky Stiff in S3 (the lottery winner episode)? And also, extra bonus points (and my eternal affection) if you caught the Prison Break reference!_

 _Anyway, as always, thanks for reading!_

 _Laura_


	5. Gates' understanding

_Thank you to those who left kind reviews for last chapter. It meant a lot._

* * *

Victoria Gates was not often wrong.

She knew people, knew how to understand their mindset, their motivations, their actions.

Her ability to read others was part of what made her such a good cop, a good captain. But even the greatest– and she was by no means among the greatest– were not infallible.

Sooner or later, they all made mistakes.

And now, it seemed her time had come. They were her team; she was responsible for each and every one of them, for their wellbeing, their safety. She was supposed to know them, protect them, understand them.

Instead, she'd misjudged them.

Deaf to the buzz of activity filtering in from the bullpen, Captain Gates stood silently before the window that separated her office and the meeting room, staring through the half-closed shutters at the agitated figure pacing on the other side of the glass, her arms folded and eyes thoughtful as she watched the seemingly indestructible foundation atop which she'd built her team slowly beginning to crack apart.

And as Beckett continued to stride back and forth, prowling the room like an enraged tigress confined to a too-small cage, Gates finally came to understand her error.

She had believed that Beckett was the center, the core, the keystone that held their team together; but her conclusion was not entirely correct, her logic marred by a single flaw.

Richard Castle.

Before she'd even met the man, it had been her first instinct to dislike him, a reaction that she considered justified– even if it was one based purely on his reputation and her own principles.

Whatever friendship Mr Castle had shared with her predecessor– Roy Montgomery had been an exemplary cop, but his laxity concerning protocol was a dangerous failing– she'd felt no hesitation in making her distaste for him known right from the outset, felt no obligation to humour this slick playboy who had somehow managed to charm his way into her precinct, this spoiled man-child who believed he could treat her profession like a game, making a mockery of the job that she and many other good men and women had dedicated their entire lives to.

And so, as was her right, she had removed him from the precinct at her first opportunity, had banished him for his apparent frivolity and often blatant disregard of the rulebook she loved.

But she'd been wrong.

Castle may not be a cop, may not be cut from the same starched-and-folded navy cloth that she and her officers were, but his unorthodoxy– as she was finally coming to understand– did not in fact make him a liability, nor the dangerous hazard to her team that she'd previously thought him to be.

It was what made him essential.

Castle was the linchpin, the one tiny screw that kept the whole machine functioning. Her earlier confrontation with Beckett was proof enough of that; she could not forget how close her brightest and most capable detective had come to turning her back on everything she'd ever worked for, could not stop seeing the tormented, despairing look in the younger woman's eyes, Castle's ghost haunting them all even as he still lived.

But, if the events during that chilling phone call were as she suspected– if he truly _was_ lost to them– she now held no doubt that Beckett would surely follow; and, just like that, Gates' supposed keystone would crumble, the entire structure collapsing into rubble around them, far beyond any hope of repair.

Now, glancing at the splintered mess in the corner of the meeting room– a pile of broken wood that had once been a sturdy chair before Beckett had forcefully introduced it to the wall– she could already see the cracks widening, spreading outward like fractured glass, inching ever closer to breaking point.

And the hard truth was that there was nothing she could do to stop it, nothing she could do to shield her people from the destruction that would soon envelop them.

All she could do was stand aside, and watch the dominoes fall.

She was so immersed in her fatalistic contemplation that she didn't immediately register the light knock at the door, looking across with muted surprise when the newcomer approached, speaking softly from beside her.

"Captain Gates," Lanie Parish greeted quietly, her eyes slightly reddened, entire demeanor subdued. "Esposito called me. He thought she might need a friend with her."

Eyeing her, Gates nodded once, both in acknowledgement and assent.

Looking out into the room beyond, Lanie's features darkened briefly at the sight of her grief-stricken friend, a shadow of that same grief passing over her face before her expression smoothed out, adopting the steady, empathetic look that she had no doubt developed from years of witnessing pain and loss firsthand. Gates was more than familiar with that look, had worn a similar one far too many times during her career.

But it was the flash of anguish that had preceded it that held her attention; here was further evidence of Castle's reach, proof of his infiltration throughout the depth and breadth of her precinct. It seemed undeniable to her now that, were he to be lost today, the repercussions from his death would ripple far beyond what she could contain, would affect far more than she could control.

Seemingly having prepared herself for what she was about to face, the doctor turned to leave, but Gates needed to hear her beliefs confirmed.

"Dr Parish?"

Lanie paused, eyes glancing to the door. "Yes, Captain?"

Gesturing slightly towards the meeting room where Beckett continued to pace, she began carefully, "If Mr Castle doesn't return, Detective Beckett…"

Taking a deep breath, Lanie met her gaze, held it without blinking as she finished the sentence. "Won't either."

Despite her similar train of thought, Captain Gates arched a brow at the younger woman's words, inviting explanation.

"With all due respect, Captain, there's something you need to understand about those two. What they have, it's not just a partnership, it's…" Pausing, Lanie frowned and looked down, struggling to find the words.

"Love?" Gates supplied, her voice devoid of emotion, giving away nothing.

"Well, yes, but it's even more than that," the doctor countered, a quiet intensity to her words. "What's between those two is… well, it's almost like some kind of extreme symbiosis, an interdependence, two beings who simply cannot survive without the other. They need each other, Sir, and if we lose one, you better believe that we've lost both."

As the weight of her words settled between them, Lanie at last looked away, her voice softening as her gaze found her friend once more. "I'm going in to sit with her."

Then, without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, taking several steps before Gates spoke, halting her a second time.

"Dr Parish."

"Yes?"

Staring contemplatively through the window, Gates sighed, then turned back to the other woman. "In your honest opinion, do I need to be concerned for her wellbeing?"

Lanie frowned from her place by the door. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Symbiosis, Dr Parish. You said it yourself. Beckett owns multiple firearms and is highly trained. I need to know whether she will be a risk to herself or others, if... if today's events do not end well."

"I– no, she would never–" the doctor began, then abruptly broke off, running a hand through her hair as she clearly struggled with herself.

Finally, her eyes lifted to meet Gates' waiting gaze once more, her voice low, pained, as if she wanted to give any other answer than the one that left her lips. "Since they started working together, I've seen those two follow each other to the brink of death more times than I'd like to count. I– I could believe that she would follow him past it."

Shaking her head, she fixed her eyes through the glass, her worried gaze following her friend. "But not now, not yet. Not until the... the person responsible was caught and put to justice. But after... I don't know if she could survive that kind of loss a second time."

Eyes lowered, Gates gave a slow nod, her voice equally quiet. "Not many of us could."

Then, turning her back on the meeting room and the broken woman inside it, she met Lanie's eyes once more, straightening her spine.

"Go. Do what you can."

With a slightly tremulous nod, the other woman obeyed, exiting the office to approach the room beside it.

Watching her go, Gates released a slow sigh, then picked up her phone, doing the only thing _she_ could do.

When the voice answered at the other end of the line, she drew a silent, steadying breath, feeling the weight of each of their fates pressing in on her.

"Detective Esposito. Tell me you've got something."

* * *

 _Hope you like my Gates, and just a note: I personally don't think Beckett would ever directly harm herself if she lost Castle, but I can 100% believe that she'd become extremely willing to throw herself recklessly into life-threatening situations. And I think the entire team knows it too._

 _Anyway, thanks for reading._

 _-Laura_


	6. Esposito's burden

_Hey guys! To avoid any confusion, just letting you know that this symbol ( -/-/- ) signifies a flashback. There's just one early on in the chapter and it's quite short, so I hope it doesn't confuse the flow too much. Also, there's another small swearing warning for this one._

 _Hope you like it._

* * *

He was going to have to make the call.

As a homicide cop, it was an inescapable part of the job. It was something you could never get used to, never become comfortable with; whether you were a rookie on your first day or veteran just weeks from retirement, no one ever found it easy to tell families or partners that their loved one was never coming home.

Javier Esposito had made his fair share of those calls.

But never, ever one like this.

As he stared blindly at the phone in his hand– Gates' number had now faded from the screen, yet their brief conversation still lingered at the back of his mind– his eyes saw only a different phone, one that was currently tucked away in a clear evidence bag, useless and half-destroyed, the 'NYPD' symbol on the cracked case almost entirely obscured by blood.

 _Castle's phone._

-/-/-

It was burning.

The van was burning and there was no escaping that familiar acrid smell carried on the smoke, the one that was far more than melted rubber or scorched plastic, the one that burned sharply in their nostrils as if forcing them to acknowledge it. They both knew that smell.

It was the smell that meant game over. It meant say goodbye to the life you knew, because nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Determinedly fighting back against the terrible truth that was being drawn into their lungs with every breath, Ryan and Esposito stepped away from the firefighter who had been debriefing them, only to be halted moments later by a crime scene tech clutching a plastic evidence bag. As the tech held up the bag for their inspection, they registered its contents through watering eyes; and instantly Esposito heard an explosive roaring in his ears, recognition detonating like a grenade in his head, disintegrating the world around him and sending him into freefall.

"I gave him that case," Ryan said finally, breaking the thunderstruck silence that had enveloped them, his voice strange and oddly distant as he stared at the mutilated phone. "I had it specially made for his birthday."

With that, he turned abruptly, stumbling away to double over a few yards from where they stood, heaving the contents of his stomach into the gutter.

Clenching his eyes shut for a moment, Esposito took a deep breath and fought for control; his own stomach was roiling, and it was only by the tiniest shred of willpower that he wasn't right there beside his partner, splattering the concrete with his own breakfast.

Expression grave, the tech waited silently, looking to him for direction– but Esposito had nothing to give.

Turning his back on the younger man, he strode sharply away, managing to cover several yards before the torrent of emotions became too much– before _everything_ became too much– and he staggered to a breathless halt, a stream of violent curses ripping from his throat as he dropped into a crouch, his hands lifting to clutch hard at his head, his eyes screwed tightly shut as if he could rewrite the truth if only he fought hard enough.

Except the soldier in him knew that there were some things you just couldn't fight. And unfortunately, the cop in him knew it too.

 _Oh, Jesus._

 _Castle._

-/-/-

Now, forcibly pushing back the memory, Esposito straightened his shoulders, lifting his eyes from his phone. For a moment he simply stood in silence, watching the flickering dance of the flames, feeling the lick of heat upon his skin even from where he stood. Gates had believed that this news was better coming from him, that his bond with Beckett– and with Castle– might make it easier for her to bear. But it was his very connection to them that told him there would be no making this easier, no way to alleviate the pain he was about to cause.

All he could do was to try to keep going, keep hoping. When he'd been a soldier, he'd lived by the army's motto of _This We'll Defend._ Now, he still lived by that rule, not only for his country but for his family, his team at the Twelfth. He may not have been able to protect Castle, but he sure as hell was going to do everything he could to protect Beckett in the aftermath of the bombshell he was about to drop on her.

Sighing, he drew a deep breath, then with a silent prayer to a god he hadn't believed in in years, he pressed a button, and held the phone to his ear.

Her answer came almost too quickly, catching him off guard, making him realise he could never have been prepared enough.

 _"Tell me."_

Closing his eyes briefly, Esposito swallowed hard, his voice hoarse from more than just the smoke. "We found the van, but... it's burning, Beckett. Way too hot to even get close. And... there's a body inside it." He faltered on the last sentence, voice nearly breaking on the words, but steeled himself to go on. "It's impossible to know who's in there until the fire is controlled, so we can't make any assumptions yet, okay? But, uh... you should know that we found Castle's phone. It's destroyed, and there's– there's blood on it."

Not knowing what else to say, he held his breath, waiting for her reply. A beat passed, then two, the silence on the other end of the line so deafening that, if not for the lack of dial tone, he would have thought maybe she'd hung up on him. For another moment he hesitated, thinking he should say something more, comfort her somehow, but the words simply didn't come. He couldn't make this better.

No one could.

Hell, there was no training that could have prepared him for this.

Clenching his eyes shut, he tightened his grip around the phone– he needed something to anchor him, something to focus on other than the emptiness both on the other end of the line and inside his own chest, and right now, this was all he had.

And Ryan– the one who usually kept him grounded, kept him going, the true rock of their partnership– even Ryan couldn't help him right now, could barely handle his own pain, his normally unshakeable calm extinguished as he sat limply on the gutter edge, his head in his hands. Between him and the silence on the other end of the line, Esposito knew he was on his own.

They might all share the same pain, but right now– in this moment, at least– they were all totally alone.

After another second or two of that piercing silence, sounds finally began to echo through the line, low fumbling sounds as if the phone were being moved around, passing from one pair of hands to another.

And then suddenly there was a soft voice in his ear, quiet and rough-edged, speaking his name with a depth of emotion that nearly broke him.

"Javier?"

Pressing a hand to his eyes, he choked out, " _Lanie_."

This was too much. For Beckett he could be strong, for Beckett he could hold himself together, but Lanie– Lanie was different. He couldn't hide it from her.

"Tell me, Javi."

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but somehow still strong, her tone both mournful and supportive– and it tore at the defenses inside him because she _knew,_ and just for this second he could stop trying to carry this for all of them, could stop trying to be goddamned Atlas and hold the world up while they were all crumbling, because the truth was he was crumbling too and _god it was all so much_ –

"The van's here," he rasped out, the words feeling like razorblades in his throat. "It's– it's burning. And god, Lanie, you can smell it. You can smell the– god, shit, it's so fucked up, and I can't– it's like Ike all over again, but worse, so much worse, and I can't lose another partner, Lanie, I can't–"

In the midst of his panic, her voice drifted through the line, soft and ethereal, curling around him like mist, cool and calming and gentle.

"I know, baby. I know."

Shuddering, Esposito forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply, feeling some of the tension within him ease just slightly, as if she were somehow drawing it through the phone, leeching the poison from his veins. For the first time since seeing the burning van, he was actually aware of his heart beating again, its feeble rhythm restarted by the woman who had started healing him the very day they met.

"Lanie–" he began, wanting to tell her, needing to tell her, but a sudden shout from across the lot caught his attention, the sound of his name permeating the emotional haze that surrounded him, forcing his eyes to open and seek out the figure in firefighting gear that was now gesturing him over to the smoldering van. Biting back a sigh, Esposito rubbed at his forehead, wishing he could simply erase this entire day from his brain, could return to a time when his entire world hadn't turned itself completely and utterly upside-down.

"Lanie, I have to go. I have to–" he couldn't finish that thought, couldn't face what he was about to have to do. Dragging in a deep breath, he said instead, "Just look after Beckett, okay?"

Her words were soft, floating to him on an exhaled breath. "I will. I promise."

"Lanie... " he tried again, his tone hesitant, uncertain, but unwilling to let her go without saying it. Not when Castle had just taught him how quickly it could all be torn away. "I just... I love you."

The silence lasted only a single beat, before her answering whisper reached his ears.

"I love you too, Javi."

Letting out a relieved breath, Esposito straightened his shoulders. He was ready.

Or as ready as he would ever be.

"I gotta go. I'll call back when I can. Just... tell Beckett we're going to get these bastards, alright?"

"I will."

Swiping his thumb across the screen, Esposito disconnected the call, then turned to move towards the firefighter that had waved him over, halting as he saw the figure standing just a few yards away, waiting for him.

Silhouetted by the dying flames, Ryan stood tall, his back straight, his expression grim. As Esposito approached, he took a brief moment to study his partner, taking in not only the lingering pallor of his skin but also the stark determination in his red-rimmed eyes, the rigid set of his jaw. Reaching him, he paused slightly and gave a small nod, which Ryan simply returned before turning and falling in step beside him, the two of them crossing the lot side by side to join the waiting firefighters.

No matter what, they were partners, and they would shoulder this burden together.

And together, they would make these bastards pay.

* * *

 _Hope you enjoyed Espo's point of view! When I planned out this fic he represented the 'anger' stage, but as with all of them, he became a little more complex haha._

 _Thanks for reading, and any thoughts/comments are always welcome!_

 _-Laura_


	7. Lanie's tears

_Hi everyone. Thank you again for all your lovely reviews and support so far._

 _This chapter is probably the one closest to my own heart (for a couple of different reasons), so_ _I really hope you like it._

* * *

She'd never been so helpless.

Years of training and experience in dealing with grieving family members, years of providing comfort to those whose world had suddenly turned upside-down... and yet, those years meant next to nothing right now.

Lanie Parish doubted that any words would ever be enough to dull the pain that was slowly consuming her friend, a dark poison steadily working its way through her system, killing her a little more with each minute that passed.

Before the phone call from Javi, there had at least been the smallest flicker of hope to hide behind, a tiny spark to fend off the darkness— but the raw pain in his voice had been enough to extinguish that, leaving them no choice but to face the truth that awaited them in the depths of that vast, dark pit of grief: Castle may never be coming back.

That call had been close to an hour ago; Beckett had yet to speak a single word since.

In fact, if it weren't for the crushing grip her friend had around her right hand— a pain she knew she would gladly accept a thousand times over if it meant lessening Beckett's own pain even a fraction— her utter stillness and silence would have had Lanie concerned that the normally indomitable detective was slipping into shock.

Looking her friend over with eyes that stung, Lanie carefully laid her free hand over their joined ones, her fingers seeking the pulse in Beckett's wrist. Feeling the steady rhythm against her fingers— a slow, mournful beat, like the pounding of funeral drums— she closed her eyes for a moment, breathing out a small sigh that carried with it the tiniest thread of relief. Even despite her science-focused mind, there was still a small, superstitious part of her somewhere that feared the depth of connection that Castle and Beckett shared— feared that if one heart should stop, then somehow so would the other, the two of them forming two dependent halves of a single whole.

Her eyes were still closed against the world— she may not be able to change reality, but she could certainly ignore it for a few seconds— when a tremulous voice emerged through the silence, the barely audible admission rippling through the room like wind on water.

"He told me again."

Scarcely more than a whisper, Beckett's words were hoarse, pained; as though a jagged stone had lodged in her throat, shredding her a little more with every word that she forced past her lips.

Feeling her eyes immediately begin to burn afresh, Lanie cradled Beckett's hand in her own, trying to keep her own voice even, steady— trying to live up to a role that she wasn't sure she had the strength to play.

"What's that, honey?"

Beckett wouldn't— perhaps couldn't— look at her; couldn't lift her eyes from the floor, from whatever distant scene she was seeing in her mind's eye. There was another moment of heavy silence before Beckett clenched her eyes shut, anguish written in every line of her body.

"He told me again. He said it again and I never got to say it back."

 _Oh, Kate._

Lanie's throat constricted, her grief welling anew. Moistening her lips, she spoke the words Beckett had been unable to say, her voice a low, soothing murmur.

"He told you he loved you."

It wasn't a question.

"He tried. On the phone. Just like he did when..." shuddering slightly, Beckett gestured weakly towards her chest with her free hand, her voice rough with grief. "He told me a year ago, Lanie. We could have had a year."

Swallowing hard, Lanie gave her friend's hand a slight squeeze, her words as gentle as she could make them. "I know, honey. I know."

Beckett paused at that, her head turning slightly, her haunted eyes lifting to meet Lanie's for the first time in hours.

"You knew," she stated softly, and Lanie closed her eyes briefly, forcing back a dark memory of a slumped form sitting on her couch, the sound of a grown man's heartbroken sobs suddenly loud in her ears.

"Yeah," she answered slowly, meeting her best friend's broken gaze. Then, softly, haltingly, she went on, "I just didn't… I didn't know that you did."

Beckett's eyes dropped again immediately, but not before Lanie saw the flash of pain that speared through their depths. For several moments there was a heavy silence, and Lanie squeezed her eyes shut, wishing that emotional pain could be treated as easily as the physical, wishing that these were wounds she could heal.

It was minutes later when Beckett finally spoke, her voice weak as she breathed the single, pained word.

"How?"

Opening her eyes slowly— then blinking rapidly to clear the moisture that had somehow gathered there— Lanie looked across at her, trying to keep the concern from her tone.

"How what?"

"How did you know?" Beckett murmured, her eyes once again blank, seeing something far away in both time and distance. "About… what he said."

She had never deliberately lied to her best friend. But right now, the complete truth was something she simply couldn't bear to give; instead, she drew a slow breath, and gave as close as she could get.

"Uh, well, over the summer... he… he called, sometimes. To ask about you. He... worried."

It was all she could say. She couldn't say that Castle had taken to calling her regularly over the three months of Beckett's absence, that she was the only one he had told of the night terrors that haunted him, scenes of cemeteries and hospital rooms, of blood and death and Beckett's body on a metal slab. She couldn't say that she had worked with him one-on-one for weeks to enable him to step into her morgue without immediately being seized by a panic attack, or that he was still terrified of hospitals to the extent that even clean white-walled rooms brought him out in a cold sweat, his heart thundering in his chest almost to the point of physical pain.

She couldn't say how many times he had broken down over the phone or on her couch, his façade of strength giving way to reveal a lost and damaged man who had escaped losing the love of his life in one way only to lose her in another.

As if she had somehow heard— or guessed— the truth that Lanie would not say, Beckett's face crumpled, her eyes squeezing shut as if she could disappear into the dark void behind her eyelids if only she tried hard enough. The breath she released was ragged, rasping, as if her body hated itself for continuing to breathe when Castle did not.

"I can't do it, Lanie," Beckett admitted hoarsely, a broken whisper from a broken woman. "I can't do this without him."

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Lanie squeezed Beckett's hand.

"We're all here for you, honey. I know… I know it's not the same, but we're here."

When she received no response, she added softly, "One step at a time, okay?"

Beckett said nothing, her eyes closing once more, but Lanie thought she saw her head tilt in the shadow of a nod, even that tiny indication enough to give her a small spark of hope for her friend.

With that, they lapsed back into silence, the two of them wordlessly clinging to one another until Beckett abruptly straightened, her eyes wide, panicked.

"I need to call Alexis."

"Kate, honey, you can't," Lanie told her, her words gentle but insistent. "Alexis means a lot to all of us, and you know we all want to do whatever we can to protect her. But right now, none of us are capable of giving her the answers or the support she needs. When it's time, we'll call her and Martha, but not now. Not yet."

For a moment, it looked as though Beckett would argue, her bloodshot eyes locking with Lanie's for a few tense moments before she sagged, defeated, her eyes squeezing shut and head dropping as she let out a slow, shuddering breath.

Desperate to provide some kind of comfort or reassurance, Lanie opened her mouth, but found she had no words to give. There was nothing she could say that would ease Beckett's pain, nothing that could make the world seem worth living in again.

A broken bone, she could mend. But a broken heart?

She was powerless, useless, and she knew it.

A brief knock at the door distracted her from her own self-pity, and with a brief glance at her friend, she gently detangled herself and crossed the room, opening the door carefully to ensure Beckett would remain hidden from sight.

The officer at the door nervously passed on their message, then hurried off, and Lanie turned back to Beckett, speaking softly from across the room.

"Honey, the phone on your desk is ringing. I'm gonna go get it for you, okay? Just in case it's something important."

Stepping outside of the meeting room, Lanie pulled the door closed behind her, dragging in a slow, uneven breath. Blinking away the tears that suddenly threatened to spill over, Lanie swiftly crossed to Beckett's desk, pointedly ignoring the many sets of eyes that followed her every move. Reaching over for the phone, she looked down at the desk, then stilled, her hand faltering halfway to its shrilly ringing target.

On the desk lay a regular notepad; but three words stood out upon the page, scrawled in a familiar hand below a small stick-figure drawing, as if done in a moment of boredom. _Castle was here._

Blowing out a breath that was almost a sob, Lanie swiftly flipped the notepad over with one hand, reaching for the phone with the other. Clearing her throat, she lifted the receiver, forcing her tone to be as steady as she could manage.

"Hello?"

The moment she picked up, a male voice began speaking, breathless and hurried.

"Detective Beckett? It's the front security desk. It's about Mr Castle— he just— "

But Lanie had already stopped listening.

The hand holding the phone slowly lowered, falling to her side as she stared across the room, half-certain that she must be experiencing some kind of grief-induced hallucination.

Because there, stumbling out of the elevator— sweaty, dishevelled, bruised and bleeding— was Richard Castle.

"Oh my god..." Lanie breathed, still half-stunned as Castle began striding toward her, his breathing ragged but his eyes filled with fire.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his words sounding hoarse, strained with pain and desperation. Lanie flinched, but had no time to form a response before his wild eyes simply looked past her, his voice like gravel and broken glass as he called for his partner.

 _"Kate!"_

There was no need to question whether she'd heard. The almost instantaneous crash of her chair hitting the floor in the meeting room was answer enough, and then suddenly she was there, almost yanking the door off its hinges as she threw herself into the doorway, her fingers white against the frame.

There was a half-second in which she hovered there, frozen in the doorway, the two of them staring across the several yards that separated them, each seeming scarcely able to believe what they were seeing.

And then a single word broke the silence, a breath, a prayer.

 _"_ _Kate."_

Suddenly, before Lanie even had time to register what was happening, they were both moving fast, and then Beckett's arms were around Castle's neck and his arms were wrapped tightly around her, clutching her to him, the two of them holding on for dear life.

As Lanie looked on, the tears began falling in earnest, at least for her; averting her gaze from the two partners as they clung to each other, Lanie wiped at her eyes, abruptly noticing the silent, awed crowd in the bullpen for the first time.

Clearing her throat, Lanie gave them all a pointed look and flapped her hands— and most took the hint, nudging their co-workers and turning away, some wiping their own eyes just as she had done. Glancing back at Castle and Beckett, she saw them still silently wrapped in each other, the embrace so emotional and intimate that she suddenly felt almost voyeuristic, an intruder on a moment that wasn't hers.

She was about to turn away again when she heard Castle speak, his voice rough and half-muffled against Beckett's hair.

"Ryan and Esposito out searching?"

Beckett's reply was soft, unsteady, almost inaudible from where Lanie stood. "Yeah."

Pulling back just slightly, Castle looked down at her. "Call them. I have the address– if they get there fast, they may still get them."

For a moment Beckett simply returned his gaze— Lanie knew her friend had believed she would never see those eyes again— before the detective suddenly looked her way, asking with her eyes what her words could not.

Immediately understanding, Lanie pulled out her cell, hurriedly hitting her speed-dial.

"Javi, it's me. Castle's— Castle's here. He's safe."

For a beat there was utter silence on the other end of the line, before Esposito's exultant whoop suddenly exploded in her ear, his voice echoing over the line as he relayed the information to Ryan.

"Baby, listen. We have an address," she told him, speaking clearly as she repeated the address exactly as Castle gave it. When Esposito confirmed it, she paused, hesitating.

"Javi," she said softly, turning away slightly. "You guys be careful, okay?"

"We got this, Chica. Tell Castle and Beckett that we're definitely going to nail these bastards."

With that, he gave another whoop and hung up, the line going silent in her ear. Drawing in a slow breath, she turned back to the others, letting her lips curve into a small smile.

"They're on it," she told them. "They said they're going to nail the bastards."

"Thanks, Lanie," Castle acknowledged with a small smile of his own, a smile that softened as he shifted his gaze back to Beckett, who was still wrapped securely in his arms, her fingers curled around the back of his neck. Now what she'd had some time to recover, however, she'd regained her old focus and had begun looking him over with a sharp eye, assessing his injuries.

Her eyes seemed to fix on a cut over his eyebrow, her fingers brushing the bruised skin around the wound, her expression tense. "Castle—"

"It's okay," he assured her, his hand lifting to close around hers. "It's only a scratch."

Beckett frowned. "I'll take you to the hospital. You need to get checked out."

"No," he countered instantly, his tone gaining an edge of panic, his expression tightening. "No, I—"

Having watched the exchange, Lanie stepped forward, clearing her throat. "I can clean you up, Castle. I've got a med kit in my trunk and I make sure it's freshly stocked. I can grab it and take care of you right here."

At her words, Castle's shoulders lowered just a fraction, and he shot her a look of relief and gratitude over Beckett's head. "Yeah, okay. Thank you, Lanie."

Giving him a brief nod, she gestured at the room she and Beckett had previously occupied, working on keeping her voice steady. "Why don't you guys head back into the meeting room where it's a little more private? I'll be back in a minute."

Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed for the elevator, holding her breath as she swiftly left the bullpen.

It was only once the elevator doors closed behind her that the first sobs broke free.

* * *

 _So, Castle returns! Safe (-ish) and (mostly) sound. I'm sure there's some of you who are surprised (and maybe even disappointed) that we didn't get a chapter for Castle's escape_ — _but honestly, this story has never been about what was happening to Castle. It's always been about what happens to the team when one of their key pieces is taken away. With that said, though, we will definitely get a few answers regarding what's been going on with Castle since his phone call with Beckett, so you won't be left wondering._

 _Also, I hope you enjoyed my little headcanons for Castle and Lanie's relationship. I've always believed that there was a lot more to them (particularly in the wake of Beckett's shooting) than the show ever touched on._

 _Anyhow, as always, thanks for reading! All comments are welcome :)_

 _-Laura_

 _(PS. I legitimately cried while writing this chapter, so I sure hope I at least inspired a tear or two from you guys!)_


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